


to the beat of the marimba

by totisok



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: F/M, Freeform, Friendship/Love, Growing Pains, High School, Marching Band, Music, Romance, Slow Burn, first fic, nobody knows what the pit is im sorry, they're like 17 here, very self-indulgent, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25178941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totisok/pseuds/totisok
Summary: he didn't expect someone like her to change his life, really.self-indulgent marching band au. rinlen. snapshots, rather than plot heavy. freeform. multi-chap.
Relationships: Kagamine Len/Kagamine Rin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i got rin and len's surnames from the suki kirai novel bc they're cute. also, not a self-insert but i wanted to draw on my high school marching band experience to recreate an atmosphere of found family and passion, coupled with romance and growing up.

Six o’clock in the evening was rolling by fast. "Fuck," Len cursed to himself as his lighter finally ceased to work. He collapsed to the floor, exhausted and frustrated. _Disciplinary exercise my ass_ , he thought. It was his third year in the pit. He had been the only underclassman of the previous year to "exceed expectations" or whatever the fuck bullshit excuse they had to come up with to make him the pack mule of this year's group.

"You've got a lot of promise, kid! More than the other lot, anyway," proclaimed his overzealous section leader — a loud, unashamed senior named Meiko, who had clapped him on the back loudly. He liked and respected Meiko a lot, but much of the rest of the group was haphazard, lazy, and unskilled. Worst of all, they seemed unmotivated to improve, something Len held in disdain to the highest degree. It was… _discouraging_ , to say the least, but Len wasn't going to let that get in the way of his success or his passion. 

Despite what he might have been told, he loved the pit, he loved his instrument, and he certainly didn't think he was wasting his time on a _fruitless endeavor that would contribute nothing to his future that he had worked so hard for his whole life and what a waste it would be and…_ well, to put things simply, he had something to prove. If only all these passionless, irresponsible fools would pull their weight.

Grumbling under his breath, he flicked his sputtering lighter repeatedly, attempting to singe the ends of the xylophone string he was working on. A few curse words and some effort later, he finally succeeded. _Only seven more to go_ , he thought woefully. As if he needed any more trouble, the band room door burst open with a loud bang. 

An unfamiliar figure stood in the doorway — a short, scrawny girl with mud caked up to her knees and dotted messily across the rest of her clothes and hair. She stared at him, wide-eyed, having the audacity to be surprised that _he_ was in the room. They locked eyes for several painful seconds before Len broke the silence.

"You can't come in like that."

"Um, hi." 

His brow twitched in annoyance. He reiterated himself. "Mr. Hiyama isn't going to like it if you soil the carpet."

"Who?"

She was really testing his patience. "The band director. Are you new to this school?"

"Yea- oh! I just auditioned for the marching band right now, actually. Transferred this semester, so I'm brand new. Are you in the band too? Hi, my name's Otosaki Rin!"

She spoke quickly, as though if she didn't get all her words out in one breath, she wouldn't be able to get them out at all. Len decided she wasn't very bright. What kind of person could have managed to audition for the band without having come across the director's name at least once? Speaking of which.

"Who did you audition with?"

"Um- the tall, blonde, scary lady- I forgot her name-"

"Lily, the technical instructor," Len provided bluntly.

"Yes!" Rin exclaimed, smiling brightly.

There were a few more awkward moments of silence, much to Rin's obliviousness, before Len — frustration close to a boil at this point — spoke once more.

"So? Why are you covered in mud?"

Her expression changed instantly into mild surprise, then she gave a little smirk.

"Initiation…? Or so they called it."

So she wasn't completely daft. Len wasn't super familiar with the brass and winds, but he was sure this wasn't a regular occurrence with newcomers. "Why?"

Rin pondered for a moment. "I think they were upset because Lily considered me for the solo?"

His contempt melted slightly as he began to feel empathetic. Their school was not something to be scoffed at as far as regional band recognition went. For a transfer student to be considered for a solo on the first tryout, she had to be pretty good. And if there was anything Len truly respected, it was hard work and skill. The idea of being bullied — or at least, disregarded — for simply being better made him nauseated.

Now, Len wasn't exactly an arrogant elitist. Due to his background and nature, music came to him with minimal effort. Someone like him couldn't afford to mess up. But he was more than willing to help out any struggling student. Unfortunately, the general attitude in their band was every member for themselves, reinforcing those at the top to plateau and have a false sense of confidence, and those at the bottom to stay unmotivated. At least, that was what he concluded from what he'd seen. Mentally kicking himself, he decided that the last thing he wanted to do was perpetuate that toxic cycle of unproductivity.

"Wait here." He rushed off to get the only things available — cleaning rags — for Rin to wipe herself off with. Once she was decently clean — despite having to go barefoot, she was allowed in the band room and collapsed onto the floor with a happy sigh.

"Thanks, that feels _so_ much better," she exhaled, sprawling out on the carpet. Len had already gone back to his assigned task. Popping her head around the large mallet instruments, she peeked over at his hands, inquisitive. "I didn’t get your name.”

“Kagami Len,” he deadpanned.

She twiddled her thumbs, eyes darting around the room full of instruments and equipment curiously. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Restringing the keyboards,” he recited monotonously, hands continuing to work. 

“You have to do that?”

“Yeah, it’s part of maintenance.”

“No, I meant, _you_ have to do all that? By yourself?”

His head jerked up in surprise. “Um, I guess? My section leader was kind of being a jerk today.”

“So that’s why you were so cranky!” She knelt down next to him at lightning speed and clapped her hands together. “I think everyone else went home already. Do you need some help?”

Her face was uncomfortably close, and he could smell the sweat and mud from before. The way she acted was puzzling — it was like she was perfectly adept at reading the room but just didn’t care. Her eyes were lit up with an intense eagerness and he couldn’t help but hyperfocus at the smudge of dirt on her nose that she had failed to clean up in an effort to not look at the rest of her face. It was then that he understood that she was waiting for his answer.

Having a second pair of hands helped a lot, he realized stupidly. The box of matches Rin suspiciously had in her backpack — “don’t tell anyone, they’re for emergencies!” — also helped a lot. He taught her about the different instruments in the room as they went, how the pit worked (“you guys don’t march?”), how to restring, what materials to use to clean the keys, all while she listened intently, following his instructions to a T. They finally got to the last keyboard.

It stood 4.3 octaves like the rest, but had different colored keys. It was also considerably less dirty than the others. Rin touched it tentatively, admiring its finish. “This one’s really beautiful,” she breathed.

“She’s mine,” he said softly. “It’s the only one with rosewood bars, the rest have synthetic. Meiko let me have her because she wants me to lead the team next year.” He handed her a mallet and prompted her to strike a note. It rang crisp and clean, without too much resonance. He usually didn’t let non-pit members touch his marimba, but he had never seen an outsider express so much interest before. He began to talk, explaining the different sections, how many awards they had won, what kind of shows Mr. Hiyama had done before, how he wished there was more of a teamwork presence in their group, which propelled him into expressing his frustration at everything, from his thirst to succeed to toxic competition within the band before he realized he was rambling. He stopped abruptly and flushed.

“A-anyway, we’re done here, so… we should probably go home, it’s late, and yeah,” he turned his back to her, packing up the toolbox. “Thanks for the help,” he added quietly.

She didn't say anything, and he assumed that she too was collecting her stuff when he felt a heavy blow to his shoulder, letting out an ungodly shriek. She had _punched_ him.

"What the _fuck_?" He whipped his head around to glare at her, only to be met with a deadpan expression. They had something of a staring (glaring?) contest for a few seconds, which seemed to be an awkward ritual between the two at that point.

"I thought you were just a crabby-pants, but you're actually pretty cool!" she declared, placing her hands on her hips.

"Why the fuck did you hit me though?!"

"You seemed like you could handle it," she hurled her backpack onto her shoulders, "and you also seemed like you could use some cheering up."

"How was _that_ supposed to cheer me up?"

She placed her finger on her chin thoughtfully. "I was told that rough physical contact was the best way to initiate fast friendship." 

And for the first time that day, he laughed. Feeling the weight of the stress prior lifting off his shoulders, as if she had literally punched it away, he decided it was pointless to wallow in self-pity.

"That's more like it!" she chirped. "So… are we good now?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're cool."

And that was that. Picking up the rest of her stuff, she turned toward the door. He spoke once more. “Thanks again for your help, Otosaki.”

Pushing the door open, she tilted her head back playfully and shot him a bright smile. “See you around, Len!” She was out the door swiftly, with her usual breakneck speed.

Even her closing lines left him speechless. Standing alone once again, Len was a whirlpool of mixed feelings. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so confusing, infuriating, and yet freeing at the same time. Then he realized that she was the first non-percussion band member that he had befriended. Deciding that he wasn’t going to let that go easily and not wanting her to have the last laugh, he threw open the band room door, which led to a paved pathway to the parking lot, and spotted her figure walking toward an old car, presumably her ride home.

“RIIIIIIIIIN!” He emptied the air from his lungs, shouting as loud as he could in an extremely uncharacteristic manner. The flock of birds crowded around some spilled lunch scattered, and a student athlete at his locker dropped his books in astonishment.

She turned around with a startle, eyes wide in shock. It was a new expression, contrary to her previous carefree, infallible attitude.

“What do you play?!” he yelled.

Her face slowly broke out into a sly grin. She made a show of turning back around and walking slowly toward the car, hand reaching toward the door handle in a painfully suspenseful manner.

“Trumpet.” She spoke in a lower volume than she had all day, but he heard it loud and clear. Climbing into the passenger seat, she shot him a wink, and then she was gone.

Maybe this season wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enter gumi.........

“Guess who’s BACK!!!”

The band room doors burst open with exaggerated grandeur, and a green-haired girl walked in with a triumphant smile on her face, hands up in the air in an irritating display of self-importance. 

She was utterly ignored as the pit continued their organized warm-up, however, and insisted on standing by the door as she waited for them to finish. Meiko was leading the session as usual, and when the group finished their scales, she looked up at the girl with a deadpan expression. 

“Oh, Gumi. You’re late.”

It took just enough willpower for Len to keep his expression straight. He grasped his mallets firmly and looked down, forcing himself to not snicker aloud in self-satisfaction.

He had almost forgotten Gumi. Which was weird, considering she was in the same grade as Len, _almost_ as talented, and incessantly obnoxious. She had been gone for a month and a half on some extravagant island vacation that she hadn’t shut up about before she left, and upon return had basically missed all summer practices, save for band camp. Len both resented and envied it — summer was usually when time was taken to initiate and familiarize new members, so the veterans tended to take on a teaching role instead of improving on their own skills. Or they could be like Gumi and disappear for a while, avoiding responsibility altogether.

The two had a strange dynamic — a haphazard rivalry mixed with a distant partnership. She was lazy, a chatterbox, and involved herself in band drama way too often for a pit member, but when it came down to it, was reliable and always played her parts perfectly. But that didn’t mean they were _friends_. Sure, they’d worked together musically for three years, but she’d always chastised him for being too uptight, and he’d scoff at her immaturity and recklessness.

He was busy mentally clicking his tongue in his head at Gumi when Meiko spoke.

“Alright, kids, time to introduce you to your second-in-command to your second-in-command!” she exclaimed spiritedly, clapping her hands together. “Gumi has also been with us for three years now, and she’s a great musician, despite her neglectful tendencies.”

Gumi grinned impishly and took a dramatic bow. 

“ _However_ ,” Meiko continued, shooting Gumi a nasty side-eye, “she needs some brushing up on technique, since she’s been gone. We can’t have next year’s co-captain slacking on us now!”

Len’s eyes widened and his grip on his mallets tightened. _Co-captain?_ Meiko couldn’t possibly be suggesting she was training the two of them to… work _together?_ Because no. No. No way. Pigs would fucking soar before he agreed with Gumi on anything.

To his horror, Meiko ordered them to take their marimbas to the next room and have a private sectional, claiming he needed to whip her into shape and that it would “give them a good opportunity to discuss leadership direction for next year.”

Gumi grumbled under her breath the entire time as they begrudgingly wheeled their instruments into the practice room over.

“I mean, it’s not like _this_ year has even started,” she complained, “and I’m just as good as you, if not better.” She glared at him, arms crossed defiantly.

“Shut up and get set, Gumi,” he mumbled as he fixed the metronome.

It took no less than a few seconds into the first exercise before Gumi stopped, coughed, and smirked at Len.

“Start over, you’re rushing.”

“I’m not, you’re dragging.” He kept his eyes on his hands; he wasn’t in the mood to start a fight. “Don’t stop, we can polish and critique as we go.”

Gumi, however, wouldn’t stop stopping, and it got to the point where Len couldn’t take it any longer.

“ _What_ is your _problem_?” he snapped, meeting her eyes for the first time that day.

“My _problem_ is,” she snarled back, “you can’t keep a beat yet you act like you’re better than everyone else! No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

He felt a small pang of shame hit him, which was quickly overridden by embarrassed anger. “At least I take responsibility, unlike a certain someone who insists on _wasting her talents frolicking on some shitty island no one cares about_ and having the nerve to tell me _I’m_ rushing!”

“WHY are you so obsessed with that stick up your ass?!” she cried, slamming her palms down on her keyboard.

“I’d rather have a stick up my ass than live in Gumitopia, where nothing matters, apparently!”

“HAVE ANOTHER ONE THEN!”

Before he could react, a mallet had gone whizzing by his head at breakneck speed. He looked up quickly, panicked and outraged. 

“ _Don’t fucking throw the equipment_ ,” he growled, “s _how some respect-_ ”

“I’LL SHOW _YOU_ RESPECT!”

 _BAM!_ In a split second, Gumi had thrown another mallet and struck him square in the face with the heavy end, bouncing off and hitting a metal music stand, causing it to clatter to the ground loudly. She gasped, her hands rushing up to cover her mouth.

Meiko stormed into the room at the racket, only to witness mallets strewn about the room, and both offenders clutching their faces; Len in pain, Gumi in shock. Nostrils flaring, she screamed at the both of them, not understanding why _they couldn’t act their age and just learn to work together, this always happened, they needed to be more rational_ , and other things Len couldn’t process as his mind was enveloped in white noise.

As the searing pain dwindled to a dull throb, he removed his hands from his face to find them covered in blood. Tenderly, he poked his nose as Meiko and Gumi watched intently, and was relieved to discover that it wasn’t broken. 

“Your nose is bleeding,” Meiko stated bluntly, “go get yourself cleaned up.” She then turned to drag Gumi back into the band room, leaving Len alone with the weight of the situation, sitting in his own blood.

* * *

Mustering the energy to pick his sorry self up, he sighed, walking over to retrieve the thrown mallets. Then, thinking it was probably worse to get blood on school equipment, he reconsidered, and dragged himself over to the connected backstage theater area to clean up. As he approached, he spotted a figure shuffling meekly out of the girls’ bathroom, and made a small noise of recognition.

Otosaki Rin was staring straight at him, with a gigantic wad of toilet paper shoved up her nose. She broke into a wide grin when she noticed him.

“You too?”

He was slightly taken aback, not realizing he would actually be talking to her again. He hadn’t made it a point to socialize much at all in his three years, and he was certain only the percussionists knew his name. But the way she so innocently smiled upon sight of him made his stomach lurch in a weirdly annoying manner.

“Are you... okay?” he blurted out, gesturing to her nose.

She replied, pulling an indiscernible face, “Yeah, we’re doing marching drills outside right now, and I get nosebleeds sometimes when it’s really hot out.” She winced slightly as her gaze scrutinized his face more closely. “But uh, you should probably be asking yourself that.”

Realizing his unsightly disposition, he used his bloodied hand to push up his bangs in a moment of dumbfoundedness. “Oh… fuck.” As if he didn’t already have enough of a mess to clean up.

Rin laughed lightly, then motioned for him to come over. “Here, let me help.”

And so Len found himself bending over the sink in the girls’ bathroom as Otosaki Rin, of all people, combed her fingers through his hair, washing the blood out. The close physical contact was uncomfortable, but the way she went about it was so unbothered and so casual, he couldn’t bring himself to make a fuss. When he was fully straightened up, they ended up sitting across from each other on some unused theater props, passing a roll of toilet paper back and forth.

“So what happened to you?” Rin chirped up abruptly. “Doubt you get much sun inside.”

“Got hit in the face with a mallet,” he muttered. There was a brief pause, and he looked up to see her with her cheeks puffed in an obvious attempt to not burst out laughing. As he felt himself grow defensive, she spoke again.

“Wanna tell me about it while we ditch practice for a bit?”

Normally, for Len, “ditch” and “practice” weren’t two words that went together in the same sentence. But he was still upset from earlier, and something about the way she said it gave him a jolt of rebelliousness, so he slumped back against his prop and proceeded to rant about Gumi.

Although she seemed restless and easily excitable, Rin proved to be a good listener, reacting in the appropriate places, like she actually cared about what he was saying. When he finished telling her _The History of Gumi the Insufferable, Abridged_ , he felt an invisible weight lift off his shoulders. As she pondered his story, he stared off into space, trying to contemplate why he had spilled so much of his less-than-holy inner thoughts to someone he barely knew. Hell, he rarely vented to the people he _did_ know.

“You guys should probably make up,” she said suddenly, “it’s not good for teammates to be on bad terms.”

“I don’t want to be on bad terms, but it’s hard when she thinks everything is a joke.”

“Have you tried looking at it from her perspective? I mean, I like you, Len, but ya gotta admit, you kinda _do_ have a stick up your ass sometimes.”

 _You like me? You met me last week._ “I only seem uptight because everyone _else_ is so loose. I’m all for having fun, but nobody takes criticism seriously or wants to put in the hours. It’s like, if you don’t care, why are you even _in_ this?” He kicked the now bare toilet paper tube toward Rin.

“Well, they _must_ be in it for a reason. Why don’t you find out?” She kicked it back.

The simple question stumped him a little, and he kicked the tube back again, weakly. Honestly… she was right, wasn’t she? If he could take a mallet to the face, surely he could swallow his ego a little and start getting to know his pit. He felt the guilt from Gumi’s prior accusation crawl up the back of his neck again. Why hadn’t he tried, though, all these years?

He looked up at Rin, who cocked her head to the side quizzically — that relentless, virtuous smile still on her face. She didn’t seem like a person who could hold on to any shame at all. And thinking about it a little more, Len realized that he looked up to it. It wasn’t often that he found a trait to admire in someone the second time he met them, and a sense of humility overcame him. Loosening his intertwined fingers, he opened his mouth to reply.

“You’re right.” He stood up abruptly.

She laughed, and kicked the tube so hard it slid into the abyss under a storage cabinet. “I’m guessing you’ve made up your mind.”

He felt his body ease up, and a small chuckle found its way out his throat. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For listening to me,” he said, sounding out his words slowly, “and for being so… nice.” Her _I like you_ resounded in his head once more.

Her smile faded. “Just trying to be a good friend, for once,” she muttered, suddenly looking down at her shoes.

It was a loaded statement, for sure. From the way her voice quietened to her body language, he could tell that somehow they had struck a sore subject. Being inexperienced in consolation, Len was tongue-tied until his eyes fell upon a wall clock. Realizing he didn’t have much time to apologize to Gumi before practice ended, he felt a sudden wave of courage overtake him and whipped out his phone quickly and clumsily, shoving it toward Rin.

“Well, how can we be friends if I don’t even have your number?”

She broke back into her signature broad grin, and for some reason he found relief in that, a shaky smile of his own finding its way onto his face.

* * *

Gumi took his apology surprisingly well, although she still insisted he was rushing earlier. She stared him down, waiting to see if he would get offended.

“I could have been rushing,” he began slowly, swallowing his pride as he eyed her smug expression, “because I was agitated. And that was wrong of me.”

Meiko, wholly relieved that Len and Gumi had reconciled, pulled the two of them in roughly for a group hug. After a quick lecture and wrap-up to the group, they were finally dismissed and allowed to go home.

As Len leaned by the school’s front signpost waiting for his ride, Gumi wheeled her bicycle by him on the way out, then paused, turning back to face him.

“You didn’t come back for a while,” she commented absentmindedly, “what were you doing?”

“Nothing,” he lied instinctively, “just thinking. Reflecting.” He wasn’t sure why he lied — it wasn’t like talking to Rin was embarrassing or a secret or anything. But when he thought of her, her daft smile materialized in his head and made him feel uncomfortable and giddy, and apparently also made him lie without reason. So he stuck with it.

Gumi shrugged and hopped on her bike. “Whatever happened, thanks. I really appreciate it.” And she was off. Len sighed, slouching against the sign, and pulled out his phone. 

Rin had saved her name with a little orange and sparkle emoji next to it, and he laughed to himself. He’d never saved anyone’s contact with emojis before, but there was a first time for everything, he supposed. Plus, she liked oranges that much? He mused it over for a bit, then cursed himself for even giving it an ounce of thought. It wasn’t anything to take note of. Was it?

She _had_ said that she liked him, after all. 

  
  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basing this off my american high school marching band experience, and there are 4 years in american hs, so this is gonna be slow paced, starting at the beginning of len's third year and ending(?) when he graduates. if we make it that far!


End file.
